


Enemy of Mine Enemy

by Jael



Series: Enemy Mine [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Battle Couple, Behind Enemy Lines, Enemies to Lovers, Enemy Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirting, Humor, Legion!Leonard, Team Up, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:37:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8016037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sara's stuck without backup during a mission gone wrong, she finds a helping hand from a source she never expected. But if she starts down this path, she may never want to turn back...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So let's run, for our lives

**Author's Note:**

> This sprang from two things: Comments about the whole "love triangle with a dead man" thing on season one of Legends of Tomorrow (referring to Ray/Kendra and Carter/Kendra in that context) and musings about how Legion!Leonard Snart may very well be past!Leonard Snart in Legends season two.
> 
> I always thought season one Leonard seemed to know an awful lot about Sara...
> 
> With many thanks to LarielRomeniel for reading this over. It includes a tip of the hat to her "Cool Movie Quotes" drabbles. You should check them out. :)

Of all the rooms in this entire goddamned sprawling complex, he has to duck into hers.

She has a knife at his throat before he can blink, almost before he can register who else is hiding in this tiny, closet-like space with him. The blue eyes widen, then narrow, but he splays his fingers wide, slowly lowering the cold gun to the floor as he keeps his eyes on hers, restraightening while never breaking the gaze.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sara hisses at him, trying to hide the wobble in her voice, the pang in her heart, thankful for the League training that keeps her hands steady despite them.

At this close range, it's impossible to ignore that it's the same man she knew...the same eyes that sparked with amusement when she busted him cheating at gin, the same long-fingered hands she's seen shuffle cards, pick pockets, pass a bottle to her and accept it in return. The same mouth...

It's just an earlier version of him, recruited for his skills by Thawne in 2013, equipped with a cold gun that shouldn't even have been invented yet and given the chance to steal things throughout time, all to further the so-called Legion's mysterious goals. The flip side of Rip's original "Legends," really. (The irony is not lost on the Time Master; Gideon still can't figure out why the timeline isn't imploding because of this.)

To this Leonard Snart, Sara Lance is only an enemy.

"Probably the same thing you are," he hisses back in a low voice. "Stealing things." A frown, quickly hidden, flickers across his face, leading her to believe he's figured out the same thing she did...that the weapon in question has already been moved, and both Legion and Legends are too late. "Hiding. Wondering what the fuck is going on, actually."

She raises her eyebrows at the moment of apparent honesty, but keeps the knife where it is. "What, you're actually here by yourself?"

He snorts. "I don't need that lot of lunatics tripping me up, especially here and now. And I don't need any of them getting ideas, because stealing from these, these...future wanna-be Nazis is one thing, but working with them is another." The distaste is unfeigned. "Not in my contract."

 _But you'll work with Darhk? With Thawne and Merlyn?_ She keeps herself from saying anything. Still, something in her face must give it away, because those blue, blue eyes study her, an oddly uncertain expression in them. She grips the knife a little tighter.

"So who's going to stop me from leaving your body here?" she retorts, burying remembered grief and current heartbreak underneath a shell of anger. _He_ doesn’t know she can't do that. "One less problem for us to deal with."

He tilts his head just a little, studying her. God, he's so _him_...

"No one," he says, finally. "But I don't think it's your style. You'd do it if you had to. But not in cold blood. Not to someone you barely know, not without a really good reason."

It's hard to tell what hurts most _._ The inexplicable understanding ( _"That's not you anymore," a voice whispers in memory)_ or the assertion that she barely knows him. The hurt manifests physically in pursed lips and narrowed eyes and, when she speaks, a clipped tone she's tried to purge of any revealing emotion.

"You don't know me."

Oh, but something's leaked in. She can tell from the sudden "v" between his eyebrows, the expression in his eyes, the twist of his lips. But he doesn't say anything about that.

"No," he says merely. "But I think I'm right."

He is, of course. She takes a deep breath.

Her comm is down. She hopes and believes that Amaya took her at her word and got the injured Ray to safety, but there's no way of knowing when someone might be able to return to help her out. Leonard, it seems, is in a similar boat. Impossible not to entertain the notion of...

"Truce?" He offers first. "Neither of us has what we came for; neither of us is going to get it. The best we can hope for is to get out of here intact.

"And I fail to see any way we're not going to have to fight our way out, and you're good, you're amazing, but we're going to be really outnumbered, and numbers like they have could pull anyone down."

 _He thinks I'm_ amazing _?_ is the first thing that crosses her mind. Followed by _Jesus Christ, Sara, you're acting like you're 16 with a crush. Get a grip._

It would be a mistake to not consider it, she tells herself. Because he's right. The odds she can make it out of this warren through stealth alone are not high, not with the numbers here, not even with her skills. And he's as sneaky as they come, a real...a real hell of a thief...but the same is true for him as well.

It just makes sense.

"Truce," she tells him, slowly pulling the knife away, keeping it balanced in her hand. "Just until we're out. Then we go our separate ways. You don't bring your...friends into it; I don't bring mine."

"They're not my 'friends,' " he snaps back. Oh, a _nerve_. "It's a job. I'm getting paid."

"I hope it's worth it," she shoots back before she thinks better of it.

He tilts his head and gives her one of those considering looks again. And there's a tinier bit more warmth there now, and god help her, it makes him look even more like...

"You know, I don't even know your name." The slow smile is a little...is he flirting with her? "I only know they call you the White Canary."

She shouldn't. "Sara."

"Sara." The way he says her name is exactly the same. Just the goddamn same. "Sara, I'm...Len."

This is a mistake.

..............

"I'm going to pull something out of my pocket, all right, Sara? It's not a weapon. Don't stab me. Blood could ruin it."

And damn him for using that teasing tone with her. He doesn't have the right, not anymore. But he never has, has he? Not as far as he knows. "Got it," she tells him curtly, watching him reach slowly into the inside of that damned parka, poised and ready to move if it turns out he's stupid enough to pull something.

He's not. He withdraws a folded piece of paper.

"A map?"

Another sidelong glance. "Did you really come in here without one?"

 _We don't have you anymore and no one else is quite the planner you are. Were. Oh, hell._ "I had a map," she tells him with dignity. "It turned out to be...inaccurate."

He snorts. "Yeah, well, the one Darhk..." His eyes flick to her, apparently tracking what she'd thought was an imperceptible flinch. "...gave me was out of date too. Fortunately, I do my homework. Memorized it, too, but I've gotten a little turned around." He unfolds it, smoothing creases, then turns just a little to put it on the small, apparently unused desk in the tiny office, jerking his head to indicate she should take a look. Bristling just a touch at his assumption of obedience, she does.

"As far as I can tell, we're here." He taps a section of the map that's full of small squares that she figures represent tiny offices just like this one. "Not so far away from where they were keeping the..." His gaze darts to her and his corner of his mouth lifts. "...item. Which is long gone, as I'm sure we both realize at this point."

Sara just gives him a stony look. The other corner of his mouth lifts.

"Anyway, we need to get out of this maze, out of the building, out of the compound, and then out of the whole damned valley. I'd planned to steal a uniform, but...well, first, you and your friends got them all riled up and then I got marked as an...undesirable...before I even did anything. I'm taking it as a compliment." He frowns at her. "Did they really take off and leave you?"

She comes within a hair's breadth of telling him what happened with Ray and Amaya. But they're not _his_ team, not now. She keeps her expression stony and ignores the question. "Undesirable? So, you got busted nicking the silverware?"

She'd like to laugh, the expression she gets is so offended. "Turns out they don't like certain aspects of my heritage," he informs her, "and in 2027 they have some strange way of knowing. Didn't pass muster. And you're in not any better a situation, given what they think of women."

"Broodmares and prostitutes? Yeah." She leans over to study the map, ignoring the warmth of his arm just an inch or so from hers. "So, what about getting to the garage and stealing a vehicle? We'll have to go through more real estate in here, but then we'll have transportation."

"Precisely what I was thinking." She can feel his eyes on her, but he doesn't say anything else. Just watches.

In another time and space, she'd tease about his fondness for watching. Here and now, she just traces the map with a fingertip, looking at possible routes, one of which leads through...

She pauses. Considers one of the objects she's carrying with her. Then glances up at him.

"You don't seem to care for these...what was the term? 'future wanna-be Nazis' … any more than I do," she says. "You were just ready to steal from them. How would you feel about causing a little destruction on the way out?"

It surprises him. She can see it in the raised eyebrows, the flicker in his eyes. But she's not sure if he's surprised by the suggestion or the fact that she puts it to him, the enemy-turned-only-temporary-partner. He looks at where her finger rests on the map, whistles, and looks thoughtful.

"Nazis," he mutters, as if to himself. "I hate those guys. Yeah. Let's do it."

"Did you just quote 'Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade?' "

A glimmer in his eyes is her only response.

…..............

It's going to be impossible for the pair of them, a tall man in goggles and a blue parka with a big gun and small blond woman clad in white leather with a staff, to go very far in this compound without attracting the wrong kind of attention. They give it a shot regardless.

They get to the end of the corridor, Sara leading, Leonard guarding her back, before a door opens in front of them...and the latter-day skinhead behind it blinks at them in surprise.

"You guys know you're on the wrong side of history, right?" Sara asks him cheerfully... then sends him off to dreamland with a smart rap of her staff. He crumbles. A shout goes up behind him.

"Well, so much for that," Leonard sighs...and they both barrel through the door, into a room full of equally surprised future Nazi wanna-bes, who really should have been on their guard given that their compound had two break-ins today and there were no guarantees all the perpetrators were gone.

Well. No one ever said they were smart. They wouldn't have been so swayed by one charismatic, wealthy leader if that were the case, she tells herself, and the leadership and brain trust is all gone with the weapon.

Or even remotely skilled at fighting, apparently. They don't even have decent aim, those that even bothered to keep their weapons on them, Sara thinks, fighting and running, Leonard on her heels.

Whatever. Their priority is getting out of here, with a certain stop along the way.

They crash through the armory, a mostly stand-alone building, pausing for only a moment, and run on. After what might be moments or hours, they emerge into the huge garage and Leonard slams and locks the door behind them.

Almost there. But there's an approaching knot of thugs approaching them, standing in the way. They share a glance...and then they're in the thick of it.

There's a very special feel to it, that moment when you're fighting shoulder to shoulder with someone who gets you, who has your back, who knows what you're going to do even before you do it. She's felt it before, but she shouldn't be feeling it now. Not with him, not with this version of him. They've never fought _with_ each other before.

But she does.

She feels that moment of transcendence, laughs right out loud in sheer joy as she moves, fights, catches the edge of his smiles as he matches her actions, causing mayhem to match her own--and knows that he's feeling it too

And for a brief, shining moment, she feels like she has him back. Snarky and intelligent and heroic in his own way and **_alive_**....

Reality crashes in. She wrestles with it a moment, then shoves it away. _Not now._

There's a break in the action and she heads for the lines of vehicles, picking out a sturdy-looking SUV-type thing, all the better for their plans.

She reaches it first, and while their plan had been for him to hotwire it, she ducks down under the dash to do the honors. He whistles as he catches up.

"You steal cars, too? Where have you been all my life?"

She laughs at the blatant flirting. "When you hotwired your first car? Probably preschool."

"Very funny!" He spins, fires, punches a goon who actually got too close.

"Working for the other side?" The engine roars to life; she grins in triumph and hops into the driver's seat.

"Also not funny." He swings up into the passenger seat. "They really haven't closed the garage doors yet."

"Nope."

"Foolish of them."                                                                              a

"Yup." She guns it.

The gate into the compound _is_ closed, though. It doesn't hold up against the cold gun and a large vehicle, however, and they're out, driving into the night, watching for pursuit and for...

"What are you muttering?"

"Just counting. And three, two, one..."

The explosion lights up the night behind them. Both of them grin.

"And _that_ for their armory," Leonard says with satisfaction. He glances her way. "Ah...it should have been a pretty targeted blast. They probably had enough warning to get out of that section, for the most part."

The "bad guy" is reassuring her about casualties. She can't help but smile.

Not too far away, they skirt a small city, eventually driving into town from the opposite direction from the compound and join the locals, briefly, in marveling about the pyrotechnics coming from the "loony bin" to the south and all the federal and state law-enforcement personnel that are now on their way through. The SUV is soon abandoned in a parking garage, and the "nice couple with the odd clothes, the ones on a day trip from the big city" vanishes as well.

In truth, Leonard picks the lock on what appears to be a deserted, somewhat run-down office building, ushering her in with a tip of his head.

She knows she should be getting back in touch with the ship, with the captain, trying her comm—currently off and wadded up in her belt pouch—again. Just a breather, she tells herself. Just a bit of a rest first. Just...

She's not sure what he's telling himself. But he doesn't seem much inclined to contact his side, either. He closes the door behind them, locking it, and takes one last look around before turning to her with a sigh.

She's waiting.

Her nerves are still jangling, with the remnants of bloodlust, adrenaline, and whatever incandescent rush of...whatever...she'd felt when she'd thought, however briefly, however foolishly, that _her_ Leonard Snart, Legend and crook and hell of a thief, had been back with her.

It's too much. It's just _too much_. She takes a deep breath, steps forward into his space and, before he can move or say a word, reaches up and drags his mouth down to hers.


	2. The closer we are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy! You have been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this went smutty on me. You have been warned.

For a second, the smallest moment, he freezes. 

She feels the sudden, startled intake of breath against her lips just as she breaks off the kiss, and his hands come up to grab her wrists as she slides them down from his neck to his collarbone. He picks them up, holds them a few inches away as if he doesn’t know what to do with them--and when she tilts her head back to look in his eyes, she sees a most unSnart-like bewilderment. 

_Oh, Sara. Why did you have to do_ that _and ruin everything?_  

She answers herself silently. _B_ _ecause it’s probably_ _the only chance I get._  

She waits for a response, expecting narrowed eyes, scorn, the drawl at its Captain-Coldest. That’s not what she gets. 

“I…where did that come from?” 

If she didn’t know better, she’d almost call his tone vulnerable. She shrugs, trying to play off her impulsive move, pulling her wrists out of his loose grip and taking a step back. 

“Adrenaline, I guess,” she says lightly. “Thought you might like to…burn some of it off. It’s OK.” 

That gets her a raised eyebrow. “Mmmm. The adrenaline was a while ago.” But…yes, the smile is a bit sly. “Wasn’t it?” 

“Well,” she says, greatly daring. “Maybe it’s a little something else too.” 

He looks away, and watching, she thinks that, just maybe, she sees the shadow of the man she knew hanging over him. The one who, fidgeting with a pack of cards, brought up “me and you.” 

“Hell with it,” he mutters to himself, then turns back…. 

And then he's kissing her, one hand tangled in her hair, the other at the small of her back, pressing her closer, shattering the bubble of personal space he usually cherishes. 

She doesn't know why. She doesn't question. She just moves her hands to his shoulders, pushing at the damned parka, trying to slide it off his shoulders. He helps, shrugging it off, moving his hands and arms, but not his mouth. That stays where it is, moving possessively on her own, which is just fine with her. 

_Sara, Sara,_ a tiny inner voice chides her _. What are you doing?  This isn't_ him _. Not really._ _Not_ yet _._  

She ignores it. Hell, she's been taking lovers and leaving them throughout time over the past few months, and none of them have been _him_. This is, at least, sort of _him_. 

She shakes the thoughts off, moving her hands back down his torso as the jacket falls to the floor and his own hands go to her shoulders. Still too many layers. She gathers black material between her fingers, jerks his shirt up and outward and then runs her hands up the warm skin of his back, hardly pausing at the feeling of scar tissue under her fingers. 

She knows the move won't be unremarked—although he can’t know she knows--and indeed, he makes a small noise, pulling back just a fraction, eyes meeting hers. She sees trepidation, but meets it with desire, nothing more, nothing less, and after a heartbeat, his lips twitch and return to hers. 

But his hands, those clever hands, circling her back and shoulders again, have somehow figured out how to find the hidden closes of the upper part of her White Canary outfit, and even as he moves his mouth to the hinge of her jaw and then her neck, the supple white leather and corseting fall away to leave her bare from the waist up. 

She laughs right out loud. 

"Only seemed fair," he mutters against her neck, and she can feel his smile against her skin. 

"I left _your_ shirt where it was!” She moves her hands around to his ribcage, lightly running his fingers up and down. 

"You want me to put yours back?" As he whispers the words, one hand moves to her stomach, then upward to just barely brush the curve of a breast. 

"No,” she breathes, closing her eyes. “No. Don’t you dare.” 

"OK." The long fingers withdraw and she opens her eyes, startled, drawing in a breath in disappointment…only to laugh again as those strong hands close around her hips, boost her to the surface of a nearby empty desk. He steps between her legs; she locks her knees around his hips; their mouths clash again as they take advantage of the evened height difference, hands wandering, breath catching in pleasure. 

They’re not even bothering to pretend this isn’t going, very quickly, where it is. Sara moves her hands down his ribcage again, letting her fingers find the snap of his jeans. She feels his breath stutter just a little as she undoes it, works the zipper, slips jeans and boxers down, stroking… 

“Whoa.”  

“Whoa?” But her amusement vanishes as he returns the favor, moving his hands to the fastener of her leather pants, then working them downward, over the curve of her ass, until he has to pull off her boots to get any further. 

She takes a sharp breath at the feel of his warm mouth on her knee—then stands up abruptly, steps out of the rumpled white leather, scoots back up on the desk and pulls him close again. 

He’d pulled off his shirt while she was removing her pants, leaving her naked and him mostly so. She runs her hands down his chest, caressing skin and scars, and takes in a deep breath at the feel of their bodies pressed so close together, hot and damp with sweat and… 

She leans back just a little, adjusting the angle, one hand bracing herself against the desk, the fingers of the other hand curled around him, one leg hooked around his waist, pressing him closer, closer. 

Still, he hesitates. 

"This is insane,” he mutters to himself, then meets her eyes, a question in his. She answers it out loud. 

“Jesus, yes.” 

They both moan as he slides inside her, though she thinks he tries to restrain the noise. He moves one hand behind her, pulling her forward a tiny bit with every thrust, and she moves with him as best she can, hooking a leg behind his back, moving in a way that seems to be working well for him, and sure as hell is working for her. 

As they find a rhythm, she’s not ashamed to say she closes her eyes, pretends this is months and months ago, that she'd said something different that horrible day on the Waverider when he'd made that confession, or that he'd somehow survived, made it back to the ship, come to her room... 

Then she opens them, because he deserves better, even this version of him, she’s startled to see those blue-gray-green eyes looking right into hers, a “V” between his eyebrows, this _look_ in his eyes, and there’s not so much difference there between this man and the Leonard Snart she’d been falling for, not so much at all… 

She lets go of the desk with one hand, reaches up to touch his face…and the world goes white around her, waves of pleasure washing over her. She actually loses sight of where she is for a moment, fingers slipping from the desk, only to find herself caught, held, as his other arm curves around her, too, both pulling her firmly against him for one final move. 

She catches her name as he gasps, shuddering, moving his face into her shoulder. And it’s not _him_ but it is and… 

She tightens her arms around him, leaning her forehead against his, catching her breath, then lets out a tiny disbelieving laugh, stunned that after everything, this has happened, that they've let this happen. 

His arms tighten too, and looking back up at him, she sees his smile, also disbelieving, a little wondering, and her heart contracts in a mixture of pleasure and pain. 

This can't last. 

At the moment, she doesn’t care. 

* * *

They clean up in silence, they pull their clothes back on, they find an overstuffed couch in what seems to be a lounge-type room near the back of the building...and by mutual agreement, they fall into it, side by side, in an exhausted sleep. 

She turns her comm back on just long enough to tell the others she’s OK, and to learn that Ray is, as well. Mick wants to come get her in the jump suit, but she tells him brusquely to save the fuel, that she’s fine and will be there as soon as she can. 

She wakes, later, Leonard’s arms around her, his quiet breathing in her ear...then squeezes her eyes shut again, pretending that this will last, that she doesn't have to go back to the Waverider alone, that he's not going to go back to the Legion, that they can take off into 2027 together, Bonnie and Clyde, assassin and crook, and... 

She hears his breathing change, but the tears are falling now, and she lets them come, only opening her eyes when a gentle thumb swipes across her face, brushing the tears away. 

"What's..." He lets his voice trail off, perhaps recognizing that he's not going to get an answer. 

She just closes her eyes, and tries to forget. 

* * *

When there's a noise outside, he actually reacts a fraction before she does, and she can feel every muscle in him go rigid, ready. When it happens again, he rises with a curse, lunging for their belongings, sweeping any evidence of…anything…aside. 

“Canary,” he tells her, all emotion, all affection gone from his voice. “Get up. Get ready.” 

Sleep shaken off, she rises, smoothing leather and running her hands through her hair, trying to look a little less like she’s been curled up with a sworn enemy, a bit less like she’d been in the throes of passion with said sworn enemy only a little while ago. 

And when she looks back at him, Leonard Snart is wearing his cold mask again, his goggles, his parka, not an ounce of humanity in his face. And his cold gun is pointed at her heart. Again. 

She blinks. And then the door opens behind him, and she hears a familiar laugh, one she'd hoped to never, ever hear again. 

"Hello, Sara," says Malcolm Merlyn, leaning against the doorframe. "Fancy seeing you here." 

She stares at him, draws a breath to say something she probably shouldn’t…. 

But, "Merlyn," Leonard says, his tone insolent and cold. "Why the fuck didn't you send in backup when I could have used it earlier?” He turns his head just a tiny bit, frowning. “And how the hell did you know where I was now, anyway?" 

"Oh. We have our ways. You swore you didn't need anyone's help on this, _Cold_. And look at this, you might not have gotten the weapon we sent you for, but..." Merlyn straightens, studying Sara. “…well, this, _this_ may be even more valuable.” 

The disparaging noise Leonard makes is more than vaguely insulting. “This?” He motions to her with the gun, something the Leonard she knows would never be foolish enough to do. She’s too…frozen…to take advantage of it. “I caught her easily enough. What possible use would _she_ be?” 

Merlyn laughs. “Oh, you might be surprised.” He looks her up and down. “Damien would like a word.” 

It’s directed at her, and so painful and expected that she sucks in a breath. She suspects that Leonard’s eyes flick to her under his goggles, but he keeps his face impassive. 

“If Darhk wants her, he can come and get her,” he snaps at Merlyn. “I steal things. Not people. I just followed her to see if she had the weapon.” 

Merlyn shrugs. “OK. I think I can talk Thawne into that.” He opens the doors and casts one more look at them.  

"Be careful around her," he warns again, and leaves. 

The door shuts. A minute passes. Another. Snart stands like a statue, not so much as twitching.  

Then, suddenly, he moves, stripping the goggles from his face with his free hand and flinging them to the floor. 

He stares back at her...and then he closes his eyes. His mouth twists. And the gun, his precious cold gun, falls from his hand, landing with a faintly metallic "thud" on the floor as he faces her, unarmed, hands held out at his sides. 

Her heart starts to beat again. 

"Knock me out," he tells her, voice rough. 

"What?" 

"Knock me out," he repeats. "You overpowered me and escaped. Merlyn's been warning me to be careful around you from day one; he won't be that surprised. But do it now, before he gets back." 

She stares at him, still registering what's happening as the world rights itself once more. As right as it can be when they're on different sides. 

"Come with me."  

She wonders if she's imagining the regret in his eyes. "I can't." 

"Why the hell not? You're not like them." She makes a sweeping gesture with her hand. "OK, you're a crook and you're done some bad things, but...you're not like _them_." 

He doesn't argue about that, but... "Sara." He shakes his head. "You heard Merlyn. They have some way of tracking me, remember? I have to get rid of that before I can go anywhere." 

"We have medical scanners. I have knives," she snaps back. "We'd manage. Don't use that excuse. I've seen..." 

But she bites back the words, because, no, she hasn't seen him ice and shatter his own hand to protect the team. That hasn't happened yet. 

"And...I have family. Family they know about." His mouth tightens. "I don't trust them with that information if I leave." 

Of course. "Lisa. Your sister. They threatened her and you actually let them live?" 

"How do you...right. Mick." He shakes his head. "They didn't threaten her. But they _know_ about her. Would you trust any of those lunatics with _your_ family?” 

_He_ _doesn’t_ _know_. 

"No," she hears herself say. "No. I wouldn't." 

What else is there to say? She sees his mouth twist, opens her mouth to… 

"Sara? Tell me one thing?" 

She stares at him. That oddly soft light is back in his eyes, partnered with ...yes, it is regret...and something even a little more complicated. 

She takes a deep breath. "Sure?" 

"Who is it you see when you look at me?" 

Her eyes fly to his. He gives her a melancholy little smile, and she realizes then, that he's seen it all along: the way she looks at him, the way she speaks to him as if they've been something other than enemies, the way they fell into this partnership like they've known each other for months instead of not at all. 

And he's come to the wrong conclusion. Sort of. 

The grief rises in her throat, threatening to choke her, and she wants to explain, to warn him, to beg him to come with her, that they'll work it out, protect Lisa, get him back home so in a few years, he can meet her on a rooftop, become a hero... 

She can't. 

She does, however, give him the tiniest amount of truth. 

"You," she says on a sob, letting him see the honesty in her eyes. "I see _you_." 

And then, as she sees the questions start to rise in his eyes, she strikes. 

* * *

She arrives back at the Waverider in yet another stolen vehicle, hopping out of her purloined Jeep as Mick and Amaya meet her at the hatch. 

"I'm all right, but the weapon was gone," she tells them tersely. "I'm sorry it took so long, but I'm back now. Let's get going." 

No matter how many questions they ask, she won't say more. 

* * *

"Fuck off, Merlyn. I let my guard down, OK? You were right." The crook Thawne had recruited for their "team" snarls at the former R'as al Ghul, the image of pissed-off, bruised pride. "The blond bitch clocked me, and now I've got a hell of a headache. She'd have been a pain in the ass as a hostage anyway." 

"She would have been valuable..." 

Snart snorts, still glaring at the other man.  

"I doubt they'd give you anything you want to get _her_ back," he says rudely. "Now why don't you think about who gave _you_ that bad information on that goddamn weapon in the first place?" 

He stalks away without another word, turning his back on his "teammates," vanishing down the corridor. 

Merlyn waits a long moment, listening to the other man's footsteps fade down the hallway, then turns to Darhk...and the yellow-suited figure who's suddenly there besides them. 

"You were right," the speedster echoes, ripping off his mask. "It’s working. We can use this." 

He smiles to himself.  

It is _not_ a nice smile. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I have two sequels planned for this. The first is almost finished. ;)
> 
> While writing this, I discovered the song "Criminals" by David Cook. Consider it a sort of soundtrack, and the source of both chapter titles.


End file.
